Freedom Cake
by soda-rebel
Summary: Alfred longs for a little peace from his home life and a little adventure from the outside. Perhaps a group of orphans can help. Especially the one with the freckles and green eyes.
1. One Squirrel is Annoying

Alfred hated math. It had nothing to do with the difficulty of the problems. Oh, he was fine with a challenge, practically dared the equations to make him flinch. But the paper just sat there on his desk, lifeless as usual. He found it strange how the oak of the ancient desk his grandfather made was cut from the same life the paper was. And so was his pencil. It was all wood, alive but dead.

No, focus! Wood and trees and paper don't matter.

If he could just stay focused, Alfred could make the numbers dance into a soft whirlwind of numbers and broken letters until they settled like autumn leaves on the ground. The problem was that he just didn't like looking at them. The sevens looked like angry cobras that nipped at the soft heads of the baby "a"s, and the "x"s were odd contortionists that frightened the square roots away. Even when he solved them, the original problem remained, stuck still in its dark black ink. Alfred didn't like how the problems clashed and yelled at each-other sometimes. He wished they would be silent, silent, silent. Just for a moment. Just a break. Just a short nap! Five minutes he told himself. Only five. Five, that looked like a hammock fashioned from the seams of the moon and held by the stitches of stars. Just five minutes.

Alfred peeled his legs away from the sticky leather of the desk chair. With sock covered feet he tiptoed on more wood, the wood of the floor, to the edge of a fluffed bed. His golden retriever, Emet, was already waiting in the center of the blankets.

'Pap, pap, pap' went his tail, almost like an invitation. Alfred nudged the happy dog aside so he could have some space.

Five minutes. Five minutes in a hanging moon hammock.

When Alfred's face hit the blankets, he felt himself sink deep into their lukewarm depths. He liked the way the blanket felt pressed against his face, pushing the cool glass of his glasses against his eyelids. It must have been perfect timing because his space heater (his parents insisted it would save money) softly puffed to awake. It made the floorboards sigh, probably equally as grateful for the heat on their grained faces as Alfred was for its comforting sound. Squirrel chitters and bird chirps outside the window accompanied the steady thrum into a comforting living static. Emet, glad to have a partner in his daytime sleep adventure, circled twice before flopping onto Alfred's back. With Emet the living blanket on him, Alfred finally felt comfortable enough to close his eyes.

And then the door slammed open.

'Bam!' it went, and with it, the birds, squirrels, and Emet all scurried off. The heater too shyly hushed itself. It hadn't even been five minutes.

From the click, click, of heels, Alfred knew the unannounced intruder was his mother. What a pain for the wood, he had thought when he was younger. Nowadays he just wished heels didn't like to hear themselves so much.

"Alfred, what are you doing? Your grades have been terrible, and here you are. Napping. In the middle of the day!" Alfred didn't lift his head. It hadn't been five minutes. "Alfred," her voice warned. "If you don't get up right now you're grounded, young man."

Alfred still had five seconds.

"No video games, no internet, not until your grades are better and you prove to me I can trust you."

Five minutes up. Alfred looked up, feeling every little particle from the blankets tug at his skin, almost asking him to lay back down. "Mom...it was only five minutes."

Alfred's mother rolled her eyes, muttering a small 'I've heard that a million times' under her breath. "Alfred, you and I both know it was longer than that." But it couldn't be. Alfred had counted.

"But mom-"

"No, Alfred. Now please study, honey." Alfred lay still while his mother's heels clicked until they were inaudible. Emet decided it was time for him to jump back up onto the bed.

He was sure he had counted right… Pushing himself up and pushing off a whining Emet, Alfred paced as quietly as he could. There were sixty seconds in a minute. Sixty seconds times the five minutes he wanted was the same as sixty-five times. Two sixties was 120. Two 120's or four sixties was 240. So that left one more sixty. That was 300. He had counted to 295 when his mother entered. 300 minus 295 was-squirrel?

No, the math would have meant five. But Alfred was transfixed on the twitching tail and sniffling nose of a deep brown squirrel sitting on his desk. Alfred dared a glance at Emet, praying that he hadn't seen it too. Luckily Emet seemed more interested in rolling and twisting his back around on the bed. With that crisis averted, he edged closer to the squirrel with one hand out. Alfred hoped it would see him as peaceful, that he wanted nothing but the papers it was sitting on. Maybe this squirrel could even be a new friend?

Just as Alfred came within centimeters of a paper corner, the squirrel snatched up the pages and stuffed them into its cheeks. It sat for a moment while Alfred stared at it in shock. After making a small 'chit chit' and swishing its tail, it scrambled past Alfred and across the floor. Alfred stumbled after it in desperation, socks almost slipping on the smooth face of the wood floor.

The squirrel darted all over the room, knocking over football and soccer trophies, ripping posters and scratching paint. Finally, with one last flourish of fur, it jumped out the window. Alfred glared as it landed comfortably on a branch and bounced, once, twice, thrice, before running away from the crime scene.

In his astonished anger, Alfred forgot to listen to the rude intrusion of high-heeled clicks.

"Alfred, what the hell did you do to your room?!" His mother's face was a mixture of silent rage and exasperated disappointment. He jolted and slowly faced her, emotions running across his face just as quickly as the squirrel ran across his room.

"But mom, there was a-and then it-it's not my fault."

Her eyes narrowed and a single strand of strawberry blonde hair slipped out of the impeccable bun sitting atop her head. "Grounded. Two months. No excuses. Clean this mess up." She waltzed out of the room, hands pressed to her temples, leaving Alfred alone once again.

The space heater creaked alive, almost confused as to why the room looked the way it did. Alfred closed his eyes, slowing his breathing, and counted to five minutes. Five minutes of no squirrels, five minutes of quiet, five minutes of peace.

Emet in the meantime, whimpered gently on the bed.


	2. Two Encounters are Troublesome

Alfred had stuffed three downstairs trips worth of scrap into the dumpster outside by the time his mother left. She had said something about visiting his father. And Matthew was out.

'It must be nice,' Alfred thought between handfuls, 'to have friends.' But of course, Matthew had friends! He was likable and kind, and he always told funny jokes. And Alfred? Alfred was awkward and weird, and only knew random facts that no one thought were interesting. Alfred was boring.

He mustn't think like that. Negative thoughts lead to negative consequences. Or at least, that's what his mother told him.

Alfred tried to focus more on the task at hand. He discarded ruined solar system posters, superhero memorabilia, and so many math competition prizes that Alfred could barely count them all. It was funny, really. He had won all those math awards, the ones he was now picking up piece by piece from the floor, for her. Because whenever he won something, she was proud. And that's all he ever wanted, for her to be proud. Now she'd never be proud. They were gone, gone, gone. She'd look over at Matthew and see that his jokes made sense and that other boys and girls wanted to actually be around him.

And Matthew didn't even have to be homeschooled.

God. He wished he were Matthew. He wished he had friends.

Unfortunately, even fate was against Alfred, sending him the epitome of "not a friend". As he dumped out what would be the fifth and final full bin of trash into the dumpster, Alfred heard a very familiar heinous sound. It was a sound he equated with absolute evil. He- or at least Alfred thought it was a he- balanced on top of the dumpster lid. In its little fuzzy claws, it held an unrecognizable piece of paper.

"Chit chit?" The brown squirrel seemed to ask.

"No, I did not miss you," Alfred grumbled.

The squirrel blinked and quirked its head to the side, almost in a feigned disappointment.

"You're the reason why I'm in trouble."

The squirrel swished its tail, fidgeting with the scrap of paper.

Alfred slammed down the trash can he held, hoping to make the squirrel scurry away. It made a terrible clang that frightened away several crows and a few finches, but his squirrel didn't budge. Alfred decided it was definitely a He. And said He was annoying. Meaning, He deserved a name as equally annoying. Geoff was what Alfred decided on. Because spelling Jeff with a "G" is already an unforgivable act. Adding an extra "o" into the mix just made it despicable.

Powered by giving his foe a name, Alfred glared at Geoff. He stuck his face two inches (at most) in front of Geoff, and waited for him to flinch.

"You think you're so great," Alfred whispered. "But you're nothing more than a dumb, dumb squirrel."

Geoff blinked but didn't waver. He was testing Alfred, but of what, Alfred didn't know.

"I hate you, ya know that? I hate you." Alfred pressed a little closer to Geoff, not willing to lose in this battle of wills.

Finally, Geoff broke away to shake his head gently and scratch his ear with a free paw. Alfred felt victorious! He had finally beat Geoff at something! Now, in celebration, Alfred decided to see what Geoff had been holding onto.

While Geoff was grooming and scratching at his fur, Alfred turned and squirmed to get a glance at the mystery paper.

When his sight adjusted, Alfred saw a familiar series of a's, x's, and 5's. It was a piece of his math homework. Homework that he hated. Homework that his mother gave him because he didn't have friends to hang out with. Homework that he'd have to do all over again.

Alfred let out an almost beastly roar and grabbed for the squirrel's neck. Luckily for Geoff, he had finished his grooming and was already prepared to run home. Alfred's outburst had even given him an early warning. Armed with Alfred's failure and a clean coat, Geoff made a dash for the woods. Alfred followed suit.

Alfred was thankful that he remembered to lace on his sneakers beforehand. The soles of his shoes were barely gripping enough to the grit of the dirt pathway surrounding his house. Imagine if he was barefoot! His skin prickled at the thought.

Past the dumpster, through the side-yard, and beyond the abandoned swing set and half-finished treehouse of the backyard, they ran. Alfred swore he was always just within an inch of Geoff. He was being teased. By a damn squirrel. It only made Alfred want to run even faster.

Geoff dashed farther and farther until he passed the trees that surrounded the border of Alfred's backyard. The sound the squirrel's bound into the trees and bushes made was almost comical; it was a lovely squeak of joy and an immediate crunch of autumn leaves.

But Alfred didn't chase on. The woods were forbidden, even he knew that. Matthew didn't go there, his mother didn't go there, even his dad had never been in there.

But then again, if no one had ever been in the woods, how could they know it was a bad place to be? And what if they were just too afraid to go in? Alfred was brave, he could do it!

So Alfred decided at that moment that not only would he exact his revenge on Geoff, but he'd be the first into the woods. Who knows? It could be a great adventure! He still needed a few seconds to ready himself for the enormous task, though. He wasn't that brave.

Alfred clenched his little fists and breathed in deeply, holding onto the breath like it were the last ledge before an endless fall. He counted to five. One annoying squirrel, two missing parents, three falling leaves, four strikes of the clock, and five. Five brave Alfred's. He was ready.

Alfred leaped for his first step into the unknown, shouting all the way. He crashed past the wall of leaves, through the trunks of towering trees, until he reached a clearing. Alfred was greeted by a confused looking Geoff and several disturbed woodland occupants. One deer even looked mildly offended.

"Oh," Alfred huffed out. He had still been holding his breath. For strength of course, and not at all because he was utterly frightened. Alfred sat down to look around a bit, and certainly not because he had almost passed out from holding his breath for so long. The sky was filtered through a canopy of crisp orange and shining yellow leaves. Each one seemed like a hand-painted masterpiece, created by the delicate brush strokes of fairies. And the ground! It was so soft, softer than any carpet he'd ever stepped foot on. A gentle dusting of moss covered the forest floor and the gently drying grass. Several strands of moss even migrated to the limbs of trees, hanging off of them like dramatic lovers. A few wildflowers were sprinkled between various tree trunks, swaying like delicate bells in the wind. If he breathed quietly enough, he could hear his heart beating alongside a rhythm, the rhythm of the woods' heart.

Alfred couldn't see why he hadn't come here sooner. It was the closest thing to peace he'd ever experienced.

"Chit?" Geoff asked.

"It is beautiful," Alfred whispered in awe. And to think, this all started because he was chasing Geoff! Quickly glancing at Geoff-who at the time was smoothing out his ruffled fur-Alfred was overwhelmed with gratitude. Suddenly, he felt guilty about the whole wanting to hurt Geoff thing.

"Hey, Geoff?" Alfred began. Geoff looked up, mildly upset to be interrupted from his grooming. "Are we, ya know, cool?"

"Chit," Geoff quickly responded. He was in a hurry to look his best for some reason.

"That's great!" Alfred was elated. He had a new friend after all. "Oh, and sorry about the whole 'dumb squirrel' thing...I was just mad."

Geoff flicked his ear irritably, which Alfred took as a soft 'It's fine.'

Alfred was about to ask more about what this place was and why Geoff had brought him there, when, he heard the most terrifying noise in the world. The noise every child, preteen, and adolescent feared: the sound of his mother pulling into the driveway. She must have seen the discarded trash can outside or the open front door, because in five minutes flat she started screeching Alfred's name.

"Alfred! Alfred! Come here right now!"

But Alfred had just got there, he'd barely been in the forest for ten minutes. It was safe here! He didn't want to leave yet.

His mother's voice came closer and closer.

"Alfred!" she screamed. "It's not funny! Come here now!"

Alfred panicked and ran deeper into the forest, hoping somehow that he'd find peace again.

He ran while branches slapped his face and wildlife thundered out of his way. He ran despite slipping several times on moss and stones and rotten things he pretended not to see. He ran and ran until the trees looked unfamiliar, almost like they cling to each other in desperation and longing.

So Alfred stopped. He panted, gripping his knees as he prepared to keel over. Somehow, he could still hear the distant echoes of his mother's voice. Or maybe that was just his imagination. He still kept panting, wanting to silence his buzzing thoughts and quiet his racing heart. It felt like his lungs were contortionists, tying themselves into knots, while his heart was an excited spectator. He just wanted a second of peace, a moment of silence, five minutes of a-

Thump.

It was not Alfred that had fallen. Or more accurately, landed.

"Who the hell are you?"

 **Good luck figuring out who the stranger is! I think you all know. ;D**

 **And for future reference, both Alfred and Matthew are around twelve or thirteen years old.**


	3. Three Adventures are Liberating

The "thump" turned out to be a boy, a very odd boy. He was dressed half in plain clothing and half in furs. Everything on him muddled into a grey-brown until he was a moving, breathing, blob of color.

"Well? Spit it out, then," the strange boy demanded.

Alfred was still frozen in fear, the ghost of his mother's voice still ringing too loudly in his ears. He scrambled a few inches back when the boy came closer.

"S-stay away," Alfred cried. He wanted to go home. Where had Geoff gone?

The boy rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you. You have to be careful here. Monsters are everywhere."

Alfred panicked even more. "A monster? Here?" His voice cracked with each word.

The boy offered him a hand, a simple gesture really. "Don't worry, they'll never get you if you stay with me."

Alfred would have happily taken the boy's hand had it not been for the thunderous destruction of undergrowth that interrupted them.

"It's my mom!" Alfred said.

"It's a monster!" the boy yelled. Taking no more time, the boy grabbed Alfred's hand and ran. "C'mon!" he called when Alfred lagged. So Alfred lifted his heels and ran upon the crunching leaves of the fall, hoping that when his mother was through with them, they'd be more unscathed than the leaves.

Alfred focused on the persistence of this strange boy, his secure grip, and the whizzing scenery. There went a tree with bark so smooth it looked almost like a solid block of cream. Alfred bet it would have crumbled into a pile of brûlée if he pinched it just a little. A few jagged stones poked out here and there like stoic glaciers, set in the ground by some massive earthen wave.

"I'm Arthur by the way!" the boy-Arthur-said. Alfred thought it was a nice name, a brave name.

"I like your name," he said, avoiding a mass of tree roots. It was almost inhuman, the amount of speed Arthur possessed. Alfred's legs were starting to hurt from trying to keep up. "I'm Alfred," he said, adding after a second thought, "Please don't let my mom catch me."

"Your mother is a monster?" Arthur asked, incredulous. He never slowed down, though.

"No, my mom is just a normal mom," Alfred said. "She's probably the one chasing us, not a monster." His glasses were slipping, but that wasn't important at this second.

"Well," Arthur began, "What's a normal mom?" It was Alfred who pulled them to a halt.

"What do you mean 'What's a normal mom'?" Alfred asked.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" Arthur replied, vaguely irritated.

"Yes!" Alfred exclaimed. "Because that's the weirdest question I've ever heard in my life!"

"Hey," Arthur began, "You didn't know about monsters and I never made fun of you for it."

That was true, it was rude of Alfred to ridicule him like that. Even if he didn't believe that monsters existed. "Sorry, I've just never met someone who doesn't know what a mom is," Alfred shrugged.

"Of course I know what a mother is!" Arthur laughed. "I just never heard of a 'normal' one. What are those like?"

Alfred thought while the breeze whipped their hair into odd fantastical swirls. "Well," he said, his brows knit in concentration, "A normal mom is someone who reads to you. She hugs you, gives you kisses, and says you're the most important person ever." The wind shifted enough so that their hair turned into needy grass-like tendrils. "But a normal mom is just a mom, Arthur. There's not a big difference."

Arthur didn't seem satisfied. "If you say so, Alfred," he said. "Doesn't sound right to me, though."

"Why?" Alfred asked.

"My mother never did any of that."

Alfred shuffled uncomfortably against the leaves, feeling the harsher wind and knowing that night was falling faster. "My mom doesn't do that either."

"Then what's normal?" Arthur asked Alfred. Although, maybe it was more of a judgment than a question.

"I guess we're both just really weird," Alfred sighed. But Arthur didn't seem too bothered.

"I like it," he told Alfred, holding his hand out once again. When Alfred only stared at him, Arthur rolled his eyes. "Shake my hand, Alfred. It means we'll be friends."

"Does it?" Alfred asked, looking closely for some sort of invisible friend-creating magic around Arthur's hand.

"I don't know," Arthur admitted. "It's what all adults do though, so it must be for special friends. Or really, really, great ones."

Alfred liked the sound of that. A friend. He took Arthur's hand and gave it a nice, firm shake.

"I don't think I've had friends before," Alfred said.

"You don't act like it either," Arthur replied. "No one's this shy. Except maybe Kiku, but he's different."

"Different?" Alfred was starting to worry about his friend status. And he hadn't even known Arthur for more than ten minutes!

Arthur shrugged. "Different like as a brother different. He gets to be an exception."

"Oh," Alfred said. "Is he a nice brother?"

"Aren't they all?" Arthur asked.

"I mean, I guess," Alfred mumbled. There was a rock a few inches away from his dirtied sneaker. Alfred kicked it and watched it sail away into a mountain of leaves.

"Your brother, what's he like?"

Before Alfred could respond, a billowing scream tore through the trees.

"Alfred!" the voice screamed, the sound ripping the air to shreds.

"My mom's calling, I should go-" Alfred muttered.

Arthur grabbed his hand before Alfred could walk away. "You should come back sometime, Alfred. I like you, and I think the others will like you too."

Alfred nodded and shuffled back to where he believed his house to be. The words "I like you" rang in his mind, showering him with a bubbling feeling. Sort of like when the sun shone through the clouds on a rainy day. Alfred held that feeling close and knew he needed to hide it deep down for a day where he couldn't find the sun, that he needed to keep it safe from wailing rainstorms and thunderous sounds. But for now, he'd indulge in that tingly warm niceness, knowing that he didn't need to hide it from anyone. He was happy, for once in his life, that he was lost.

He was lost. Oh dear, he was lost. Alfred scrambled for a memory, any memory, of the path he took when Arthur pulled him to safety. All he could find was the taste of freedom against his lips and the sight of a bright-eyed, freckled boy that smiled like he'd never smile again.

Another crash in the undergrowth. Was it Arthur? Did he miss him?

"There you are!" his mother yelled.

Alfred cringed from the sharpness of her voice, cold as an uproar of a winter storm. Her hair and half of her face was hidden under a small black veil that protruded from an equally small hat. She had probably returned from a visit to his father, or so Alfred assumed. Almost subconsciously, he tucked away that feeling from before. His mother didn't need to know about it.

"You-you are in so much trouble, Alfred." With the way she pressed her gloved hands to her temples, Alfred didn't doubt that. She continued yelling, though. "I leave for fifteen minutes and you just disappear from the house like-"

"Forty-eight," Alfred interrupted.

"What?" his mother asked, irritated to be interrupted mid-sentence.

"You were gone for forty-eight minutes and twenty five seconds in counting," Alfred explained. An unsettling feeling creeped upon Alfred after having replied so dryly and mechanically. He didn't like the taste it left in his mouth. Bitter, and just a little foreign. "Did you see dad today? Did he ask about me? Is he any better?" Alfred asked.

"Shut up, Alfred." His mother was practically fuming. "Get inside now. I don't want another word from you all night."

Alfred did as he was told. Why wouldn't he? But as he wordlessly walked into the house, Alfred wondered what would happen if he happened to "forget" her order. Something freeing, perhaps. Something horrible, maybe. Or something fantastically in between.


	4. Four Chandelier Swings are Intimidating

A lion's den. That's what Alfred thought of when he made his way to the dining room table. The cheap chandelier cascaded a warm honey gold that quickly spun out into a menacing blood orange across the oak table. The stretched and ghostly lacquered faces that were the leftover rings of some dead tree made Alfred shiver. After his outburst earlier, they had worked together in silence to prepare dinner. And now, after she had toyed with him, given him the cold shoulder, it was time for her to leap for the kill.

He stepped into the den and took a chair.

More takeout leftovers from another Chinese restaurant. Last month it had been Mr. Yao's. Alfred didn't remember where they got the dimly glistening orange chicken and dried lo mein this time. The rice was theirs, that he knew. Some small clumps of rice had been overturned in her hurry to set the table that Alfred could see the burned bottom she tried to hide. No respectable Chinese restaurant would send out burned white rice.

Of course, she only made the rice to claim credit for the meal. If she made something, even as insignificant as the rice, technically no one could say she didn't make anything. Or so she said.

She began to scoop piles of rice and other leftovers onto Alfred's plate, asking if there was anything he wanted extra of. He liked her in the center of the light, right under the lowest hanging bulb. He liked her when she was like this, gentle and attentive, soft and caring. It made him happy to eat the burned rice if it meant she would be like this forever. But he knew it wouldn't last. Better to pretend that it would than worry about the inevitable.

"How is your dinner, Alfred?" she asked. Her hair glistened under the halo of the chandelier as she helped herself to a mixture of mushrooms and green beans.

"It's good. Thank you for dinner." He took an obvious fork-full of the rice to emphasize his appreciation.

"I'm glad you like it," she smiled. "It took me forever to cook everything."

Alfred wanted to argue that he did most of the microwaving and that she left the kitchen halfway through cooking to read a magazine. He wanted to. But he wanted her warm smile even more.

"Alfred, we need to talk about what you did today."

Alfred felt the hairs on his neck rise. Surely she couldn't be mad already? It hadn't even been five seconds. "Yes, mom?"

Emet whined near the table for a treat. He just wanted a little slice of something from the table. Just a small treat was all.

"You really shouldn't have gone into the woods," she said. "It's dangerous in there."

"Why?" Alfred asked, failing to notice that his mother had long stepped away from the light.

"Why?" she seemed to ask herself, more than Alfred. "Well, because I'm your mother and I want what's best for you."

Alfred leaned into the light of the chandelier and said, "But it was safe. There were so many pretty leaves, and I think you'd like it if you went."

"Alfred," she said slowly, tension building in her voice, "I do not want you to go back. Do we understand?"

"But it was so nice, and the trees-"

She slammed her hand on the table. "'We won't go into the woods, Mom'. Say it, Alfred," she yelled.

The chandelier swung wildly. Left, right, left, right. Or maybe that was his heart, racing, and fighting to be free. Alfred held his breath for five seconds, and slowly whispered the line.

"We won't go into the woods…"

She smiled, her sudden outburst seemingly evaporating from the air. "Now that's a good boy. I'm going to visit your father again. Do me a favor and clean up the kitchen while I'm out."

She excused herself from the table without another word and quickly left Alfred alone. Emit was whining gently under the dining room table. The chandelier gently spun back into place with its usual menacing hue.

"We won't go into the woods."

Amelia Jones had been a foolish thing when she was younger. She met a man, fell in love, made a few mistakes, and married again. That had been her biggest mistake, she thought, as she drove to see her "husband". Amelia enjoyed these long drives. It gave her time to think where she wouldn't be burdened by the joys of motherhood. Well. Perhaps not burdened, more like occupied. But that's beside the point. She lamented losing her first marriage, her perfect life in a lovely French villa with her successful wine shipping company. Along with her gourmet chef husband, things had been perfect. But she had to be greedy. She needed to have more, and reasonably, he had left. Now she was stuck with a dependent and a son that would likely become dependent one day. What a bad hand Amelia had drawn in life.

Maybe she should go down to a bar instead. She wasn't in the mood to talk to Allen. Him and his fucking trees and the woods. It was always about him, wasn't it? How could he be so selfish?

Amelia in all her introspection had unfortunately missed the exit she was supposed to take. She cussed and made up her mind to do literally anything else than visit Allen. In a rush, she swerved her car into the left lane to the annoyance of a large truck. Off she sped to the nearest alcohol-serving establishment. If she was lucky, maybe she'd find some poor schmuck that would pity her situation and offer to pay for her drinks.

Who was she kidding? There was _always_ a poor schmuck.

Hey y'all, I know I don't usually do A/N's so I'll make it quick. I'm thinking of rewriting the chapters I've done so far (and possibly this one too in the future) so expect updates! Sorry this chapter was so short and thanks for reading. Your comments are always so lovely ;3;


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